


Take One

by CaveDwellers



Series: Snapshots [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/F, Model!Sapphire, Nonbinary Ruby, Photographer!Ruby, Photography AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveDwellers/pseuds/CaveDwellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Ruby using their bathroom as a dark room for developing photographs, and where it stops--well, that remains to be seen. [human AU, crossposted on ff.net]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take One

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look, another Rupphire AU! This one features Ruby as a photographer, and Sapphire as a model. Huge credit for this idea goes to the beautiful minds of [mintly](http://mintly.tumblr.com/) and [patternedclouds](http://patternedclouds.tumblr.com/); I basically just took their discussion from the skype group and ran with it ;P
> 
> This is the first installment of Snapshots, which will be a loosely connected series of oneshots all using these particular AU characters. I will not be the only one writing for this-Clouds and Mint, for example, will probably be contributing oneshots to it. I'll keep y'all updated in author's notes at the end of this oneshot, but so far I'm the only one who has anything completed ;P
> 
> Just an FYI: much like [Rhinocio's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhinocio) [Homeworld T Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/274284), in this series Ruby will be using 'they/them' pronouns. Like Homeworld T, this isn't meant to be masculinizing in any way--it simply means that Ruby as a character in this AU... doesn't like she/her pronouns. We started using they in reference to Ruby in the original conversations about the AU, and I wanted to preserve that in this first installment :) Besides that, there really isn't a lot of nonbinary-folks represented in fiction, and I think would be cool to widen that fictional pool a little bit! :D
> 
> I listened to the song [Two Way Street by Kimbra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRESaeYf-q4) on a loop while working on this. I might as well confess to it now, since it probably leaked into the writing a bit. ;P

Honestly, Ruby loves the bathroom in their Manhattan studio apartment.

It’s so small that the door can’t even swing all the way open without smacking against the toilet bowl. The wallpaper, whose faded gold vellum might have looked nice at one point, is peeling towards the ceiling from too many years and the steam of too many showers. The floor is linoleum, yellowed but still easy to clean. There are no windows, but there is a vent that sounds quite a bit like a jet engine.

So, okay, they don’t love the bathroom because it’s a bathroom, they love it because it is the _perfect_ darkroom.

Some might say that photography as an art form has now gone entirely digital. Ruby begs to differ. Digital cameras are useful in a pinch, yes, but any schmuck can grab a thirty dollar camera with a 2MB SD card from Walmart and start clicking away—hell, with the advent of the smartphone even _that_ is going above and beyond the call of duty. When literally everyone and their grandmother has a digital camera with semi-reasonable resolution at their fingertips, how do real photographers find a way to stand out?

In Ruby’s opinion, _real_ photography is found in good old-fashioned film itself.

Of course, a part of Ruby always partially regrets making their bathroom into a dark room when they have to piss like a goddamn race horse, as they do now. The toilet cover boasts their precious expensive enlarger—not to mention the developing film they have clipped to the cables strung from the shower rod over to the hook that typically sports their bath towels. Going pee would require trying to move _all_ of that, and doing so would fuck up the photos. Obviously, none of that is going to happen.

Just a few more minutes, Ruby tells their tender bladder as they delicately extract wet photos from their developing trays and clip them up to dry in the amber safelight. Their hands don’t shake; they’ve done this so many times that they know exactly where everything is. The glow of the safelight bounces off the mirror and the panes of their glasses, endlessly pinging off of each other, but Ruby’s used to that and so don’t pay it any mind. Finishing development of this roll of film is more important. After that, they can grab an americano from the Starbucks just around the corner and pee.

Ruby studies the photo they’ve just hung up. They freelance, mostly, but these prints are for a recurring client of theirs, the small-but-growing Unit 6 Modeling Agency. This week had been a belly dancing photo shoot. All of the regular models had been there, wearing semi-sheer harem pants and belts that clinked merrily at the slightest movement. Their makeup had been all different shades of gold, and rhinestones had glinted at the corners of their eyes. There had been bona fide belly dancing music playing in the background—if it hadn’t been wordless, then Ruby probably would have called it a distraction. As things were, they hadn’t minded, and the models had been having a lot of fun with it, so it was okay to have around.

This particular photo features a woman with nut brown skin and blonde hair. She’s in profile, with high contrast lighting—but there’s a hint of color from the silk she’s wearing tracing the edges of her silhouette like an aura. Her ponytail is slipping over her shoulder like liquid gold, shining, defying the profile. The slight voluminous curl of her hair flows smoothly into the graceful lines of her body, from shoulder to hip to thigh. A glint of piercing blue eyes peeks out from under her long, soft bangs.

 _Sapphire_.

It’s a good photo. Ruby caught her at a nice moment. They are, they think, objectively happy with this one.

They like the one hanging right next to it better, though. It was taken about forty-five seconds later, when the song “Wherever, Whenever” by Shakira started playing. Ruby had started to turn and snap at whichever wise guy thought to put that on the playlist, but they had stopped dead in their tracks at the slight upturn of Sapphire’s lips. Only years of dedication and practice made it possible for them to snap a photo just before she burst into raucous laughter. Her lips are arced a little more than the second before, and while the pose and the contrast isn’t as dramatic there is something about the way the light is playing off of her cheekbones—the way it teases out the blue of her eyes—that is seizes the air in Ruby’s lungs and holds it a beat too long. The composition isn’t textbook perfect like the first one, but the picture inspires a much deeper gut reaction. Ruby isn't objectively proud of this one, they are honestly _drawn_ to it.

Ruby’s worked with Sapphire on sets before, but they never heard her laugh until that day.

Sapphire has a really, really pretty laugh.

Ruby curses under their breath when they shuffle over to check the exposures on two other prints, and their stubborn bladder protests with jabs of discomfort. They are _not_ rearranging this darkroom—and going in the shower is off the table, as well. That’s where a majority of the prints are drying.

“You know what?” they hiss at their own body as they knuckle their glasses back up the bridge of their nose. “You can pipe down, I heard you the first time!”

Ironically, right about then their stomach decides to add its concurrence.

…When _had_ they eaten last?

Ruby grumbles as they deem the most recent exposures acceptable and carefully hang them up as well. Two against one really isn’t a good voting ratio.

They’ll grab at panini at Starbucks, too, they compromise. Or maybe egg salad. Something like that.

It takes about twenty more minutes before they feel comfortable with leaving the prints to dry. They slip out of the bathroom and into the main room of their little home. Ruby hasn’t turned on any lights in the studio proper for hours, but that’s because they don’t want _any_ light getting into their darkroom. They do so now, but only after making sure the blackout curtain over the bathroom door is sealed and secure. They do this all subconsciously—it’s habit, at this point—and shove their glasses up their nose again. They pat down the pockets—keys? Check. Wallet? Good. Phone? Probably not necessary, but that’s there too—before snatching up their everyday polaroid and slinging it about their neck. They lock their studio apartment and try to run to Starbucks without joggling their bladder so badly they piss themselves. The smoothest mode of travel is taking long strides and powerwalking, but that’s just _so slow._

Of course, no amount of bodily discomfort can stop them from halting in their tracks, perching their glasses up on their untamed mass of wiry curls, and stealing the moment an Infiniti G’s cherry taillights whip around a righthand turn, the orange of the street lights glinting off the roof of the four-door sedan just so. Ruby doesn’t mind that the car’s movement will come out blurry—that’s what they aimed for, because that way the things that actually _matter_ (the taillights, the solid sentry presence of the streetlamp) will stand out starkly in contrast.

There is also a woman in a dark blue peacoat by the lamppost. She is talking quietly into her cell phone while waiting for the crosswalk sign to say go. Her straight, elbow-length brown hair half-obscures her face, but the way it _flies upwards_ as the Infiniti screeches around the corner—the widening of her eyes, her parted lips emitting the faintest of gasps in the crisp autumn air—is brilliant.

All of this, with soggy maple leaves littering the cracked sidewalks and glowing early evening storefronts for a backdrop. Ruby couldn’t have arranged it better if they tried.

Ruby doesn’t own a car. They don’t need one; in this part of New York City, everything they need is accessible by foot, bus or subway. Besides, if they were driving, they wouldn’t be able to capture instances like this.

There is an uncomfortable pang in their navel as they start walking again. Are they risking a UTI right now? Probably. That photo was worth it, though. Ruby has no regrets.

The Starbucks is crowded, as usual. It doesn’t matter that it’s six-thirty in the evening, it’s Manhattan and these city slickers love their coffee. Ruby sees the line extending halfway across the café and veers in the direction of the bathroom with a small, muttered, “Fuck that.” They’ll get their coffee and sandwich after peeing—the staff here is used to their antics by now.

Ruby is so hyperfocused on relieving themself that they actually, physically bump into someone.

“Whoa! Err, sorry about that, um…” It takes Ruby a moment to understand why they’re squinting. They’re near sighted, but not so near sighted that they absolutely _need_ their glasses at all times. Besides, having their frames in the way of the sight on their camera is a hindrance they simply cannot tolerate. They forget to put their glasses back on, sometimes.

Though she’s a little blurry around the edges, the tall blonde woman in front of them is entirely unmistakable.

Cheeks suddenly very warm, their pulse abruptly erratic, Ruby reaches up to flip their glasses back onto their nose. They pull, but the frames scarcely budge. Their glasses are well and truly tangled in their afro.

No, not today. Not now, of all times…

 _“Sapphire!_ Erm, hi. Hey. Hi. Wh-what are you doing here?” Ruby knows their voice doesn’t sound the least bit casual right now, too high pitched and stumbling, but their glasses just _won’t budge_ , and—

Sapphire raises her eyebrows and holds up a 16-ounce to-go cup. It is decorated in snowflakes, because even though it’s mid November it is clearly already time to start thinking about Christmas. “I’m getting coffee,” she says. Sapphire’s voice is low and smooth, and—in this case—lilting with what Ruby sorely hopes isn’t vindictive amusement.

Sapphire has the most shapely lips. The way they’re curling up at the corners like this, Ruby could take pictures of them for hours. Dial the focus in until they are the only clear thing about her, let everything else go fuzzy. Play with the lighting. Make her laugh.

A ache is developing behind Ruby’s breasts. They already want to hear Sapphire’s laugh again.

The taller woman gestures to Ruby’s personal hair debacle. “Do you need help with that?”

Ruby’s stomach drops, and they swear their bladder nearly quits in a neglect-induced rage. Their entire body feels like it’s on fire, and not in the good way. “I’ve got it! I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. I was just… err…” They gesture limply in the direction of the water closet, but words fail them. If they go to the bathroom now, will Sapphire just—shrug to herself and leave?

They can’t put off going pee for much longer, though. If they do, it will be an even bigger disaster than having the pretty Unit 6 model leave Starbucks without talking to them.

Sapphire smiles and reaches out with one slender brown hand. She deftly unhooks Ruby’s glasses from their errant curls and hands the frames over. If she notices that Ruby has stopped breathing because of her proximity, then she doesn’t remark upon it. “By all means,” she says as she steps to the side and gestures to the ladies’ room.

At this point, Ruby is too desperate to even say thank you before jamming their glasses back onto their face and bustling past the blonde haired woman. They finish their business as fast as possible—though, they admit, they do take a couple of seconds to emit a hefty sigh in relief—but by the time they have charged out of the bathroom, rubbing their palms dry on the legs of their jeans, Sapphire is already gone.

Ruby will never be able to say what possesses them to steady their trusty camera in one hand and dash out of the Starbucks after her.

They’re in luck; she’s only at the other end of the block.

“Hey, wait!”

Sapphire turns, and the way the blue of her eyes reflects the orange glow of the street lamps is utterly hypnotizing. Just the angle her chin is at in relation to the shape of her shoulders and spine is lovely.

Ruby’s mouth is high desert dry at this point, but when Sapphire doesn’t do anything but blink at them expectantly they let go of their camera and jam their hand into their back pocket. They pull out their wallet. “U-um, I’ll have the photos from this week’s shoot done in a couple of days, and-and if you like them, um. If you thought they looked okay, and you know of anyone who needs a photographer, I’m freelance, so. Um. Y-you’d have to see them and like them first, I guess—oh, come on, I didn’t bring _any_ business cards?”

Ruby nearly dashes their wallet against the orange, yellow and brown carpet of fallen maple leaves and stomps on it in frustration. They just barely manage to reign themself in. “I don’t have my card with me,” they finish lamely. Their stupid, useless wallet gets shoved back into its proper pocket. “Sorry.”

It takes Sapphire a moment to reply. She takes a sip of her coffee. A single eyebrow is raised at Ruby, but her expression is utterly enigmatic. Ruby can’t see what her eyes are doing from behind the current position of her bangs, but they do notice the _slightest_ of smiles on her lips.

Maybe, by some strange stroke of fate, they haven’t actually messed this up.

Sapphire holds out the hand that’s not holding her coffee. “Give me your phone?”

They do so without needing to be told twice—or, they start to, but then they realize Sapphire is probably going to need them to unlock it first, so then they yank it back at the last second and accidentally press their camera icon instead of the phone icon. It takes a second for the smartphone’s camera to load, and Ruby curses under their breath as they navigate away from that and to the number entry screen.

Sapphire lets all of this happen quietly. The air about her is soft and patient instead of jagged and frustrated. Somewhere, in the eye of the hurricane that is Ruby’s current sate of mind, they appreciate that.

With a quick, sure series of taps, Sapphire types in her own number and calls herself. She waits until a generic iPhone ringtone starts sounding from the pocket of her coat before cancelling the action and handing Ruby’s device back to them. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promises with a smile. It isn’t a full smile, but it’s not guarded either. It’s actually kind of sweet. “See you at the next shoot?”

“I, uh, don’t have anything else lined up for Unit 6 right now,” Ruby mumbles, feeling their cheeks heating up. God, they probably look like the most unprofessional person on the planet right now. “They haven’t contacted me about anything.”

The smile grows. Just a little. Ruby really wishes she would smile again like she is in their photo of her. “Well, you never know, right? I know the models like you.”

_Does that include you?_

Ruby doesn’t have the gumption to ask that aloud, but damn if they don’t burn to. It’s funny, they’ve never wanted someone to like them this much before.

Ruby reaches up and adjusts the trusty camera that’s hanging from their neck. “Yeah, I guess?”

Sapphire’s lips twitch. “I’ve got to get going,” she says. “But I’ll see you soon, Ruby.”

Somewhat numbly, Ruby raises a hand to wave adieu. They stand there on the street corner, floored, long after Sapphire has walked away. In their head, incredulity wars with delight. _How did this end so well?_

I’ll see you soon, she said. How can she know that? Unless—no, can’t be. Shouldn’t be.

Maybe?

Ruby’s stomach growls again. Oh, right. They never did buy anything at Starbucks, did they?


End file.
